


Blood

by siluria



Series: Of Monsters and Men and Hell Between [4]
Category: Chronicles of Riddick Series, Doom (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siluria/pseuds/siluria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riddick might be tagging along for the ride.  They might have shared experiences and the same goals.  But Reaper is still alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Smallfandomfest](http://smallfandomfest.livejournal.com) on Livejournal, the prompt being Reaper/Riddick, Creatures and Comfort.
> 
> Many thanks to [taibhrigh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/taibhrigh/pseuds/taibhrigh) xx

The ship breaks atmosphere and John programs in a destination that will get them the supplies they need and a place to recharge. He waits for the computer to signal acceptance of the coordinates and for the sublight engines to kick in. Stars that were once pinpricks of light stream past in the viewscreen as the cruiser picks up speed. Any desire to watch UAC's raptor-infested planet burn until nothing is left alive is secondary, and he abandons his seat to check on Riddick.

There's a haze of pain dulling his thoughts. John knows it isn't his, because despite the multiple slashes in his fatigues and the drying blood that feels like it's coating every inch of his skin, he knows that every slice from the raptors' claws has closed and disappeared so that no evidence remains. This pain is Riddick's.

John pulls Riddick from the co-pilot's seat and guides him to what is now Riddick's room, lowering him to the bed. Riddick doesn't make a sound, just settles back against the headboard with a tight expression on his face. John leaves him while he hunts out the meager medkit that he still keeps onboard. He often forgets to restock it; he never needs it himself, and only keeps it around for rare occurrences when he comes across someone in the UAC bases that he deems worthy of saving. That hasn't happened in a long time.

Medkit in hand, John returns to Riddick's room, perching himself on the edge of the bed as he catalogues the injuries he needs to attend to. Some of the shallow cuts have stopped bleeding, and look like they're healed, but the deeper slashes still ooze dark rivulets of blood and will need a helping hand. 

John looks up from his inspection of the deepest of the cuts to find Riddick's silver eyes watching him. It seems strange now, even after such a short amount of time, to be the subject of the other man's attention and yet not feel an emotion that isn't his own coiling through him.

Riddick's anger has been an almost constant presence, although John has yet to work out what the origins of that much rage are, because he knows it's not all at the UAC. Other emotions flitter around, appearing and disappearing in flashes: amusement, pleasure, contentedness, sadness. Sometimes John feels nothing more than a brief wave that washes over him. Sometimes it's faint and he almost misses it. Sometimes it's so intense it floors him. Those moments of lust that Riddick unconsciously sends him are almost his undoing because even if the emotion isn't his, his body reacts as such. Nothing has been said, nothing has been acted on, and in a way John is thankful. He doesn't know how he feels about it yet, and he shoves it away each time with the excuse that he'll deal with it once he's finally brought down the UAC.

In this moment of quiet, John can't even feel the undercurrent of anger, and he feels oddly bereft. The thought that Riddick might have snuck beneath his defenses concerns John enough that he startles at the possibility.

"You okay?" Riddick asks. His normal gravelly voice is sharpened by pain.

John smirks, no trace of humor in the expression. "Nothing that hasn't already fixed itself," he answers, hoping that he hasn't let any of his torment slip through to the other man.

Riddick reaches out and grabs his arm, stilling his movements. His grasp solid enough that it would leave bruises if John's body could ever resist repair long enough to bring out the spectrum of color. John lets Riddick twist his arm so he can see beyond the shredded and bloody fabric to the pristine skin below. Riddick huffs when he's satisfied his curiosity and lets go. "How come you got the good genes?" he grunts.

"Maybe because I was a boy scout," John grumbles as he flips open the medkit.

Riddick snorts, the sharp movement of his gut sending fresh spikes of pain at John. "Well, I ain't never going to be one of those."

"Probably for the best."

John pulls the shredded remains of Riddick's black vest away from the bloody skin. It's the first time he's seen Riddick bleed, and where he'd expected crimson, instead the blood is much darker. There aren't the black viscous clots that Sam had shown him from the blood of those that had been infected, but it's a reminder that Riddick isn't wholly human, even if he's not entirely imp either.

John digs the fingernails of one hand into his palm, and feels the broken corner of the nail of his index finger snag against the skin. He presses a little harder, letting the sting clear his thoughts before he sets to work. He concentrates on cleaning, stitching and wrapping Riddick's wounds, all the while being hyperaware of Riddick's silver gaze following his every move. It's not until the lid of the medkit clicks shut that either of them speak again.

"You're pretty handy with a needle and thread."

John stares at the medkit in his lap, and rubs idly at the bloody fingerprints on the metal surface as he debates with himself. It's not just about trust -whether he trusts Riddick in particular, because he hasn't made his mind up yet - but about bringing up people and times that are another life away.

"I was my unit's medic," he finally replies.

"Lucky me."

The words and tone are full of sarcasm, but the warmth that washes over John at the same time is sudden but real. The feeling is a shock after the almost painful absence of anything other than the baseline manifestation of Riddick's injuries. John startles and raises his head to find an almost equal expression of shock on Riddick's face.

Maybe Riddick didn't intend the emotion to leak through, maybe he didn't think he could feel that way in the first place, maybe… John doesn’t know what to think of it right now, and he _can't_ deal with it yet, not when he's so conflicted. The lust that has been directed at him is nothing more than a quick fuck against a wall, something lacking sentiment. That he can deal with. Sentiment is something else, and he's shut all emotion off since Olduvai, and purposefully kept his distance from everyone, Sam included. He needs to not have to worry about others, and he's wrongly assumed that Riddick's exposure to C24 made him as untouchable as himself, but the still healing wounds suggest Riddick still has some of the vulnerability of man.

The metal of the medkit creaks as his grip unconsciously tightens, and John's three steps away from the bed and at the door before he speaks. "I'll let you rest." His voice is monotonous, and he forces his jaw to unclench before he shatters a tooth. "We'll be at Titus IV in a few hours, there's a safe place there to restock and decide what's next."

He doesn't wait for an answer, just pulls the door closed and crosses the corridor to his own room. The room is sparse, carries nothing personal, and serves him only as a place to sleep and freshen up. He sheds his boots and his bloody and ruined fatigues, leaving them wherever they fall as he moves to the bathroom. The water starts out cold, not that John notices, and he stares unblinking as rusty red water flows down the drain, slowly clearing until the only blood that is left is burnt into John's mind.

Riddick is supposed to be nothing more than an ally, someone with the same goals, someone who understands what it's like to see hell and live through it a changed man. Today though, John's discovered that he's still alone. Riddick doesn't heal the same way he does. John can't describe Riddick as weak - the man is anything but - his fighting skills, his ruthlessness all remind John of Sarge. And while he might not have to worry about Riddick changing, he does have to worry about watching him die. John's seen enough death to last a thousand lifetimes. Maybe Riddick has too. One more is one too many for John though, and he has every intention of leaving Titus IV on his own before he gets too close.


End file.
